


As Thou Art With Sin

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Priests, Confessional Sex, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), Frottage, Hand Jobs, Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Putting the blasphemy in blasphemy prompts with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” he starts, internally chastising himself for the crack in his voice.“Aziraphale?  What the hell are you doing here?”“Don’t—just…let me say what I need to say.”  Aziraphale takes a deep breath and starts again.  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It has been almost a week since my last confession, but there is something weighing heavy on my heart, and I need guidance."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073915
Comments: 40
Kudos: 208
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020, Clerical Omens, Good Omens Human AUs, Society for the Promotion of Underappreciated Sex Acts (Good Omens Local 666)





	As Thou Art With Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hikaru9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/gifts).



> Day 3 here we go! Look it's my first ever human au!
> 
> This fic is for the prompt: “Oh make thyself with holy mourning black, / And red with blushing, as thou art with sin.” (Divine Meditations 4; John Donne)
> 
> This one is a gift for my dear friend hikaru9 <3 I was such a huge fan of your art to begin with, and then I met you during the minibang this year and it turns out you are a wonderful person, too! You've become one of my most dear friends and I love you so much <3 I hope you like this! ^_^

Father Aziraphale steadies himself, fingers clasped around his rosary as though it is a lifeline. As though it could save him and pull him from this Hell of his own making. He’s made a decision, one he has no wish to back out on. If he is correct, he can move on and the seal of confession will protect him. If he is wrong, well…he has never gone into any situation with the assumption that he could be in error. He only ever dares to jump when he can be certain of the results. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and opens the door.

He settles himself in the booth, waits for Father Anthony to show. His dearest confidant, his oldest friend, and the unfortunate object of his confession. This cannot continue, these fleeting feelings and wants and desires. They would be bad enough if it were only his vow of celibacy, but the nature of the thoughts make it worse. To lust at all is forbidden, to lust after another man, grounds for dismissal. Father Gabriel would never let him stay on if he acted on any of these urges, on this love that courses through his veins.

No, best to end it here. To get his answer, to know his friend’s heart, and move on.

The door on the other side creaks open, and the familiar scent of soft earth wafts through the grating, ensnaring Aziraphale’s senses just as easily as it does in the gardens, when he helps Anthony with the vegetables and the flowers. Anthony is always followed by that smell; it sticks to his cassock and clings to his hair and Aziraphale is overwhelmed by how much he wants to drink it in up close. To press his nose to Anthony’s skin and inhale. To let him in - his body, his blood, his soul, his spirit.

Good Lord, best to get this over with.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” he starts, internally chastising himself for the crack in his voice.

“Aziraphale? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Don’t—just…let me say what I need to say.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath and starts again. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost a week since my last confession, but there is something weighing heavy on my heart, and I need guidance.”

“And I’m always here to give you that, Aziraphale, but I don’t understand why it needs to be here? You could just ask me.” Crowley presses his hand to the grate, Aziraphale tries not to notice. He tries to ignore the deep amber eyes that pierce through that grating and straight to the heart of him, the flutter in his chest every time Anthony shows him any kind of regard. Those long fingers, pressing against the partition, oh how he longs to twine his own with them, to stroll through Anthony’s garden hand in hand and heart to heart. But that can never happen.

“Please, Anthony, I need to do this.”

It’s silent for a few moments, only the sound of the echoless halls of the church. Aziraphale can faintly hear a songbird outside. He wonders if there’s anything worth singing about.

Finally, Anthony sighs, takes his hand back and turns his gaze forward to the door. “Alright then, Aziraphale. What is troubling you.”

“I confess I am having…impure thoughts that are unbecoming of our station.”

“Impure thoughts? What kind of impure thoughts?”

“Thoughts of love, which I know is what God _is_ , so that should not be impure. But while the love behind these thoughts rings true, it is not God’s love. It is a selfish thing, a wanting thing. There is a lust behind it that I cannot tame on my own. I can’t. I’ve tried.”

“These…thoughts of love…are they directed anywhere, or to anyone, specifically?”

Anthony sounds nervous and, not for the first time today, Aziraphale wonders if he’s made the right decision. He wonders if this will ruin the friendship he and Anthony have formed and molded over the past year. But his resolve is strong, even if his heart is weak.

“Yes, to one person specifically.” Aziraphale hears Crowley swallow thickly, and curses himself internally for thinking this was a good idea.

“Who, Aziraphale?”

The words are vulnerable, open and breathy. It’s not a voice Aziraphale is used to hearing on his friend and it scares him. Makes him want to wave the whole situation away. Call it a passing nonsense. Pretend it’s just a joke. Anything but the truth.

But he came here to tell the truth, and that is what he will do, even if this is the end of all things.

“Don’t you know, Anthony?”

“Tell me anyway.” His voice is firm and commanding, the one he uses with the particularly unruly plants, or when the children get themselves in trouble on Sunday mornings. The type of voice that cannot be ignored.

“It’s you, Anthony,” Aziraphale whispers as tears sting his eyes. They gather at the corners and roll down his cheeks, paying no mind to the lines that mark his age. A man his age shouldn’t hope, a man in his position doesn’t get to have these things. And isn’t that why he joined the church in the first place? Anthony is silent next to him, still as a statue. Aziraphale worries at the ring on his little finger, hating the quiet, hating the songbird, hating the echoless walls of this church. 

“I didn’t want to, you must understand,” Aziraphale continues, unable to take the silence any longer. “I never wanted to love you this way. To think about you as I drift to sleep, to have you be the only bright spot in my day. You’re my dearest friend, the best one I’ve ever had and I—I couldn’t bear to think I’ve ruined everything, but I can’t hide it anymore, Anthony. I love you, I have loved you, and I am saying it now. Now please, put me out of my misery, tell me you don’t feel the same so that I can move on with my life and with my path.”

Anthony sucks in a sharp breath next to him. “You… you’re in love with me?” It’s shaky and hesitant but every word is a hammer-blow to Aziraphale’s heart, cracking it and leaving it bleeding on the confessional floor.

“Yes, I am in love with you, have been for quite a while. But Anthony you don’t—“

He’s cut off by the other door slamming open as Anthony storms out of the booth, a gunshot of a sound in the quiet of the church. Aziraphale’s tears fall more freely, lacking any absolution or even a kind word. He cradles his head in his hands, rocks back and forth and allows himself to cry.

After a few short minutes that have felt like hours, the door to his side of the confessional is opened. He looks up to see Anthony, haloed by the sun streaming through the windows, a glowing angel above him that he will never ever be able to touch. He can’t place the look on Anthony’s face, but he is sure that it’s anger.

“Anthony, I’m sorry, I—“ The door is swiftly closed and quite suddenly Anthony is climbing into his lap, work-worn hands rough on either side of Aziraphale’s face, thumbs swiping away the tears.

“Say it again, Aziraphale, please I need…I need you to.” 

Aziraphale notices, for the first time, that Anthony is crying as well. He is here, in this booth, this secret place hidden from the world and from prying eyes. Anthony is in his lap and crying and touching his face and begging — _begging—_ Aziraphale to say it again.

“I love you, Anthony.” Aziraphale says on a whisper, watching Anthony’s face break into a smile that could set the dawn on fire with its brightness. Anthony leans in, as easy as breathing, and presses his lips to Aziraphale’s.

There’s no lightning bolt to strike them down, the Earth doesn’t shake and split at the weight of things. The world, for its part, stays quiet. The songbird keeps singing. Anthony kisses him gently, a soft press of lips not asking for more than just that. Not wanting to push for more than Aziraphale is willing to give. But _oh_ if Anthony only knew.

Hesitantly, Aziraphale kisses back, answering the soft press of Anthony’s lips with one of his own. His shaky hands alight on Anthony’s hips, thin and slight; Anthony’s cassock bunches up under Aziraphale’s touch. Aziraphale wants to cradle him close, to protect him, to hold him against his own broad chest and feel him breathing.

The kisses become deeper, more heated. Anthony licks into his mouth and Aziraphale opens for him willingly, taking communion from Anthony’s lips as his friend’s hands slide back and into his hair. They twine themselves there, gripping and taking hold. Aziraphale’s hands drift to Anthony’s back, pull him closer.

“Love you, Aziraphale, loved you for so long,” Anthony says between kisses, letting his lips roam across Aziraphale’s cheeks and jawline. He dips down, takes hold of Aziraphale’s tab collar with his teeth and pulls it free; kisses and nips at the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat as he pushes his collar aside.

“Anthony… we can’t do this…I want this, but we can’t…our vows—“

“Fuck the church, leave with me, we can find somewhere. You don’t have to answer just please, God, please let me have this right now.” Anthony’s hands are on his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, trying to touch everywhere he can reach but never finding anywhere to truly rest. “Loved you since the first moment I saw you, bloody angel that you are.”

“Oh, Anthony,” Aziraphale cups Anthony’s cheeks, pulls him in for another kiss. He knows the taste of him now, and he never wants to be without. 

Anthony rolls his hips, smiles when he feels Aziraphale’s hardness against his own. “Can I? Aziraphale, please, can I?” Anthony’s fingers are dancing along Aziraphale’s length, tantalizing ghosts of touches through his trousers that make Aziraphale want to cry and beg in equal measure. He wants so much to let Anthony touch him, to chase pleasure together in a way he never has before. But there’s no turning back from this. This is a crossroads, and he has to make a choice.

Aziraphale ghosts his hands up Anthony’s thighs, finds him shockingly bare under the cassock. He pushes the fabric, letting his hands drift underneath and land on Anthony’s arse. He squeezes the flesh under his fingers, delighting in the keening noise that Anthony makes. “Yes, Anthony, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Anthony kisses him again as he flicks open the button on Aziraphale’s trousers, works the zipper down, frees Aziraphale’s aching cock to the cold air. There’s no going back now.

Glory to God in the highest.

Aziraphale pushes Anthony’s cassock up and out of the way, taking in the sight of him. His cock is lean, just like him. Curved and flushed red. Aziraphale desperately wants to know what it would feel like inside of him, how it would feel to be pinned down and taken and _loved_.

Anthony wraps his hand around both of their cocks, thumb working over the tips to spread the precome, to make things slide easier. Aziraphale moans a bit too loudly when he’s touched.He’s only ever touched himself, never known the touch of another. But this? Being here and in Anthony’s hand? It’s pure bliss.

He strokes them together, slow and with intent. Aziraphale can’t stop his hips from rolling and Anthony matches his movements. He reaches for Aziraphale’s hand, wraps it around his own where it strokes over them, bringing him into the moment as an active participant. 

It’s everything Aziraphale has wanted, the shine of sweat on Anthony’s brow, the hot puff of Anthony’s breath against his cheek, the jerk of his hips as they work each other to their releases.

“Bless me, Aziraphale,” Anthony breathes more than says against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “For I have sinned.”

“And what,” Aziraphale answers, head thrown back against the confessional wall, “is your sin my darling?”

“I have had impure thoughts about my coworker, I go to my quarters at night and I touch myself thinking about him. Just like this—“ Anthony twists his wrist just so as he spills out over the both of them, biting down on Aziraphale’s shirt as he does “—Just…just like that.” Anthony doesn’t stop, keeps stroking even as his softening cock slips free of the hold. “I think, often, of bringing him to the edge, of giving him all the pleasure in the world. I want to lie with him, I want to live with him, I love him so much.”

“Love— _ah!—_ Love can never truly be a sin. Maybe love is for all of us— _oh!—“_ Aziraphale tries to speak while Anthony continues his strokes but he finds it hard to do, settles for kissing a line down Anthony’s throat instead, tasting the Earth and the salt on his skin.

He cries out when he climaxes, spurting out over Anthony’s hand, their spends mingling together, sticky and messy. Proof of this thing they’ve done together. Anthony slumps against him, legs wobbling where he straddles Aziraphale on the bench. They stay there for a while, talking and giggling, hushed voices and even quieter kisses, as they make their escape plan.

What good is a church that says love is wrong? And what good is a God who would punish them for it?


End file.
